


Holly and Ribbon

by surlybobbies



Series: Destiel December 2020 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Holidays, M/M, Mutual Pining, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27858037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Cas shifted on the couch at the sound of Dean’s door closing, and a few seconds later he was sitting up and squinting at Dean, the blanket that Dean had draped over him falling from his shoulders. His bedhead was a sight to behold.“Morning,” Dean said softly. He curled his fingers into his palms before he did something stupid like walk over to touch Cas’s hair and proclaim his undying love.Cas was hitching the blanket around his shoulders again. “Thought you promised pancakes,” he said.“Coming right up,” Dean said, already on the way to the stove. His heart was full, simply because Cas had something he wanted and it was something Dean could provide.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Destiel December 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040806
Comments: 8
Kudos: 249





	Holly and Ribbon

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd prompt of Destiel December (hosted by jellydeans and galaxystiel on Tumblr) is "Decorating." Title is from Taylor Swift's "Christmas Tree Farm," which I've been listening to nonstop for days.

Cas had always been attractive. It had been the first thing Dean noticed about him when they’d met three years prior, and it was still the first thing Dean noticed whenever he walked out of his bedroom to see Cas in the apartment living area. He’d never been shy about his opinion either; “Looking good, Cas,” he’d say, or even, “Morning, handsome,” and Cas had eventually learned to ignore him instead of splutter and deflect.

His attraction to Cas had never been a problem - Dean could control himself, thanks very much - but that changed suddenly on one early autumn morning: Dean trudged out of his freezing bedroom with a blanket around his shoulders, and Cas smiled at him. It was his regular smile, the one he greeted Dean with every morning, but somehow it seemed more meaningful that day. Then Cas handed him a mug of - “Hot chocolate for breakfast?” “You’ve been working hard, Dean.” - and Dean’s heart stuttered at the affection in gesture. He took the mug, just barely managed to work his tongue around a _thank you_ , and then fled back into his room.

And that was it. Their regular friendship was gone just like that - destroyed by _feelings._ If it had just been Cas’s blue eyes or thick thighs that Dean had to contend with, he would have been fine. But seemingly overnight, it became everything else, too. It was Cas’s voice, his sigh, his smile, the way he never let Dean have his way, but always let Dean have the remote. It was the way he’d memorized Dean’s schedule so that he could leave him a meal in the oven, and the way that he didn’t mind doing the groceries, and the way that he wished Dean a good day - like he really meant it, like if he could, he would give Dean a good day every single day for the rest of Dean’s life.

It became a problem very fast, and Cas was quick to pick up on it.

“You’re avoiding me,” Cas accused one evening, accosting Dean at the apartment door. It was December by then, and he was wearing a Santa hat.

Dean had indeed been trying to sneak into his bedroom without being seen, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “It’s probably because you’re the weirdo who wears Santa hats when there’s no one around to see him.”

Cas scowled. “I’d say that _you’re_ around to see it, but that’s hardly ever true nowadays - because, _like I said_ , you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Dean protested.

Cas tipped his head back and looked at Dean through narrowed eyes. 

Dean’s mouth went dry. He shoved past Cas before his addled brain got him in trouble. “I’m exhausted, dude. Can we do this in the morning?”

“You’re acting like you’ll be here in the morning.”

Dean puttered around in the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking for a glass. “What do you want from me, Cas? I’ve been busy.”

Cas was staring at him from across the kitchen with his hands crossed over his chest. “I can appreciate that you’re a busy man, Dean, but you’re not just busy - you’re avoi -”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Dean interrupted, holding up a finger to stop Cas from going any further. 

Cas snorted. “Then prove it.”

Dean abandoned his search for the glass. “What?”

“Prove it,” Cas repeated. “I want to decorate the apartment for Christmas. We can do it together.”

The thought of being around Cas during Christmas season made Dean’s stomach flip. His throat was still dry. He resumed his search for a glass with newfound motivation.

“Dean?” 

It was the way Cas said it - not accusatory this time, just quiet and worried - that made Dean finally look at Cas. Cas's eyes were wide and questioning. 

“Of course I will, Cas,” Dean said, because the only thing worse than painfully-attractive-Cas was sad Cas.

By the time they got the Christmas tree up to their apartment, Dean’s affection for Cas was almost overwhelming. Cas had insisted on buying an absolute _monster_ of a tree - “It’s our first Christmas in the apartment; we have to go big” - and though Dean had felt like a monster when he strapped it to the roof of the Impala, the way Cas had looked, so incandescently happy in his coat and his gloves and hat, made it all worth it. He was amazed Cas didn’t notice how often he kept sneaking looks at him as he drove home.

They hoisted it up in the corner of their living room with only a little trouble (the trouble being on Dean’s part, because Cas had pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and Dean had wanted to _die_ at the sight of those forearms.) It was only when they stepped back to look at the tree that they realized the issue.

“Do we… own a ladder?” 

Dean ran a hand over his chin. “We can ring maintenance?”

“I don’t want to bother them on a Friday night.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Dean said, more to reassure himself than to reassure Cas.

“We always do,” Cas said, turning to smile at Dean. “I’ll get some beers.”

Usually Dean was on board with a beer or two, but in this situation? With Cas in a navy blue sweater that brought out his eyes and the smell of Christmas in the air? “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cas.”

But Cas had already pulled out two bottles from the fridge and was nudging one at Dean’s elbow. “I’ve always wanted to know what we could accomplish drunk.”

Cas’s eyes were blue and mischievous. Dean’s knees went weak. He took the bottle. 

Half the trouble of stringing the lights on a Christmas tree was _unstringing_ the string from itself. 

“This was supposed to be enjoyable,” Cas complained. He had a loop of lights strung around his right bicep, and it continued around his left leg.

“It’s enjoyable for me,” Dean said, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. “Just gotta put a bow on you and you’d look like a present.”

Cas arched an eyebrow at him, but the effect was lessened by the way his hands were struggling with the lights wrapped around him. “Going to unwrap me at midnight, Dean?”

Dean choked on his beer. “N- no one’s unwrapping anything if we can’t even put the lights up.”

“Then we better get to work,” Cas replied smoothly. He extended an arm laden with Christmas lights toward Dean.

It took two hours, but they eventually managed to get the lights up. 

Cas plugged them in and stepped away. He squinted. “Am I drunk or are they uneven?”

Dean was on the couch, too busy admiring the way the lights looked on Cas’s face to care about the lights on the tree. “Both,” he said.

Cas ran a hand over his face. “I’m too drunk for this,” he said. He stretched his arms over his head in a excruciatingly slow stretch, then walked over to join Dean on the couch, oblivious to the way Dean was silently saying his first prayer to a deity in years. Cas sat down and sighed heavily when he looked at the tree. “It’s worse from over here.”

Dean wanted this wet dream to end. He already had a cushion over his lap. “We can fix it tomorrow,” he suggested. His voice cracked a little.

Cas’s eyes were slipping closed, and he seemed to be giving into the temptation of sleeping on the couch because he grabbed a spare cushion and hugged it to his chest, letting his chin fall forward. “Only if you promise to make pancakes in the morning,” he mumbled.

Dean watched Cas’s eyelids flutter. “Promise,” Dean said, though he doubted Cas could hear him. All horniness aside, Dean understood at that moment that he was willing to promise a lot of things to Cas, and pancakes? Pancakes were the least of them.

The neighbors to the right of Dean and Cas’s apartment always got up obnoxiously early, and Dean and Cas were never particularly happy to wake up on a weekend morning to the sounds of their vacuuming and petty bickering. That being said, when Dean walked out of his bedroom the morning after putting the lights on the tree, he was grateful to his neighbors for the first time ever - because the barest strains of some vaguely familiar Christmas carol was being carried through the wall, and that, coupled with the sight of Cas asleep on the couch and the fragrance of Christmas in the air, made Dean’s entire month.

Cas shifted on the couch at the sound of Dean’s door closing, and a few seconds later he was sitting up and squinting at Dean, the blanket that Dean had draped over him falling from his shoulders. His bedhead was a sight to behold.

“Morning,” Dean said softly. He curled his fingers into his palms before he did something stupid like walk over to touch Cas’s hair and proclaim his undying love.

Cas was hitching the blanket around his shoulders again. “Thought you promised pancakes,” he said.

“Coming right up,” Dean said, already on the way to the stove. His heart was full, simply because Cas had something he wanted and it was something Dean could provide.

He started on the pancakes while Cas slowly returned to the land of the waking. This involved a lot of stretching and sighing, all of which Dean tried valiantly to ignore, concentrating instead on the familiar motions of mixing and pouring and flipping and mixing and pouring and flipping and - _if he makes that sound one more time I’m going to set something on fire_.

Cas sighed one last time before getting up to watch Dean’s progress. “Smells nice,” he praised, peeking over Dean’s shoulder, making Dean shiver. Cas’s hand landed on Dean’s back. It skated down for a brief moment, just lightly, just enough to make Dean’s nerves sing, then it was gone. Cas walked away into the bathroom for a shower and Dean walked away from the stove to splash cold water on his face.

After pancakes (and many deep, meditative breaths from Dean), they began putting the ornaments on the tree, but Cas kept yawning behind a hand. Eventually Dean slid the box of decorations closer to himself and pointed a thumb at the couch. “Go take a nap, Sleeping Beauty.”

Cas pulled the box back. “I’m not a toddler, Dean. I don’t need naptime.”

“Only toddlers argue they don’t need naptime, so I think you qualify.”

“Is this your way of getting out of spending time with me again?” Cas accused, narrowing his eyes.

Dean put a hand to his forehead in disbelief. “Was I dreaming, or did we not spent the whole of yesterday together? I’m _not_ avoiding you.”

“Prove it,” Cas said, his chin tipped up in challenge.

Dean snorted. “What, do you want me to nap with you then?” 

He regretted it as soon as the last syllable left his lips.

The stillness that followed between them was absolute, though the world around them kept moving. Their fridge kicked on. The dishwasher ran. Next door, the first few measures of Taylor Swift’s “Christmas Tree Farm” could be heard amid a bout of muffled laughter. Still, neither Dean nor Cas moved. 

They stared for a long moment, then another, then another. Dread, mortification, shame - it all formed a horrible lump in Dean’s throat, and the longer Cas just stared at him, the harder it got to breathe. 

Then - _clack._ One of the ornaments fell from its branch, and the moment ended. Cas tore his gaze away to pick up the ornament. He stared at it for a few seconds in his hand then silently put it back.

Dean plucked another ornament from the box. He hung it up. Then he hung up another. And another. Cas did the same on the other side of the tree. In a lot of ways, the way they kept hanging ornaments was worse than the moments immediately following Dean’s unfortunate comment, because at least when they were staring in horrified silence at each other they were in some way acknowledging Dean’s words. This busy silence was different; it was, to Dean, an indication that they’d bury the moment in the back garden and never speak of it again, though the horrifying truth would always be in the back of their minds.

After a few minutes, Cas cleared his throat and murmured, “I think I am going to take that nap.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He just watched helpelessly as Cas hung up the last ornament in his hand and started toward his bedroom. 

He was still watching when Cas paused at the threshold and looked over his shoulder, eyes careful. “Are you joining me?”

Dean dropped the ornament in his hand in his shock. It bounced once and rolled underneath the tree. He didn’t bother picking it up because Cas was already walking into the bedroom. In a daze, heart in his throat, Dean followed.

When he got there, Cas was standing near the far side of the bed, his hands at the hem of his shirt. As Dean watched, Cas made eye contact. It was deliberate. He took off his shirt achingly slowly, making sure Dean’s gaze never left his body.

Dean’s mouth went dry. Hands shaking, he shut the door behind him.

Afterward, they ate lunch, feet tangled together under their dining table. Cas smiled as he ate, alternating between smug - “I should have invited you for a nap sooner” - and affectionate - “I’d like to spend the day together tomorrow, if you’re up for it.” 

Dean was definitely up for it. In fact, as soon as Dean had closed Cas’s bedroom door two hours before, as soon as a shirtless Cas had pulled him in for the first of a series of frenetic kisses, Dean had been up for anything that Cas wanted. He said as much to Cas over lunch, expecting Cas to double down and say something to spark Dean’s libido again, but Cas just looked down at his plate and smiled, pleased.

Cas put his hand on the table, palm up. There was affection written in every inch of his expression. “Let’s finish the tree today, then go from there.”

Dean put his hand in Cas’s. His feelings for Cas threatened to overwhelm him, but he squeezed Cas’s hand and the feeling eased when Cas smiled. “Count me in, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dean's horniness got out of hand here; I had to wrangle him back from an M rating to a T rating. I just can't write porn, Dean, I'm sorry.


End file.
